


OHC Cribs

by cognitioncorsair



Category: Orbiting Human Circus of the Air (Podcast)
Genre: Crack, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Multi, alcohol mention, slightly serious but mostly just crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 13:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8982385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cognitioncorsair/pseuds/cognitioncorsair
Summary: “Wasn’t I supposed to- right, okay. Hi, I’m Host John Cameron, and welcome to my crib.”Approximately twenty years before "MTV Cribs" first aired, Host John Cameron gives a tour of his mansion on international television.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't take this seriously because I definitely didn't. Also, I've never seen an episode of MTV Cribs in my life.

“You all asked, and we delivered: for today’s special anniversary episode we will be touring the house of none other than John Cameron, host of the internationally acclaimed radio show, the Orbiting Human Circus of the Air.”

“Shit, it’s starting!” Jacques jumped over the couch, landing next to Leticia, who shoved him away to make room for her girlfriend. The three, along with various members of the circus staff and miscellaneous friends, were gathered in the stagehand’s lounge to watch John’s TV debut. The only people missing were the janitor, and John himself.

“Hey, where’s the kid?” Francois asked from the other side of the couch. “You’d think he’d be beggin’ to get in here right about now.”

Leticia smirked at him from over the others’ heads. “Francois, where have you been ze last few weeks? Julian does not need to watch John on ze television, he has ze real thing.” They shared a knowing look while at least three separate people shushed them. Leticia glared at the closest one and turned up the volume.

The camera panned slowly across the front of John’s luxurious four-story mansion, highlighting the well-kept greenery and beautiful art filling the gardens.

“I can't believe Cameron only lets us come to his house once a year,” Francois whispers to Jacques. His friend snickered, slinging an arm across the back of the couch.

“Dude, you don’t wanna go there more than that. Weird things happen in that house, I’m tellin’ ya, ‘specially when there ain’t no one else around. Better to stick to the parties, really.”

They all cheered as the camera crew finally approached the front doors and rang the bell, the Orbiting Human Circus opening music drifting through the air. John appeared to answer the door only seconds later, but the watchers swore the light changed significantly between shots.

“Wha- what’s happening?” he asked, squinting at the people gathered before him. “Is- oh god, it’s today isn’t it.” He held tightly onto the doorknob, shuffling sideways to allow the crew inside.

“Wasn’t I supposed to- right, okay.” He smiled brightly. “Hi, I’m Host John Cameron, and welcome to my crib.”

“Oh, poor John, zey should have cut all zat,” Leticia lamented.

Her girlfriend shrugged. “It’s more entertaining…?” Everyone nodded in agreement.

With the camera crew finally inside, John began to lead the tour of his house, yawning occasionally as he walked. Their first stop was the living room, which he insisted on calling the “parlor”.

“Does everything in his house use the circus colors?” someone wondered out loud. They all turned to Leticia, the determined expert on all things John Cameron.

She winced. “Let us just say, he is very much proud of his job.”

The staff watched as John showed off his premium leather couches, perfectly shined tables, and multiple framed pictures of notable circus guests. While quite elegant and impressive, the room gave off a feeling of loneliness and disuse. The kitchen and dining room, which they toured next, were the same.

“Oh? Yes, of course, this is just the basic living area, I’m sure no one cares about that. Come this way, let me show you some more interesting things.”

The next room they entered was an expansive gym, containing a climbing wall, ropes course, connected swimming pool, and every imaginable piece of standard workout equipment.

“Maybe if your gym looked more like that, you’d actually go,” Francois teased, poking Jacques with his elbow. Jacques scowled, muttering something about “lifting more weights than your puny ass” under his breath, but didn’t refute the claim or remove his arm from his friend’s shoulders.

On screen, John looked ready to jump into the pool and drown himself as someone off-camera asked him about his exercise habits. He spouted off some obvious lie about almost having a six-pack before waving the crew out of the room. The interviewer asked to see his personal bedroom and he acquiesced, leading the way across the grand hall towards the other side of the house.

The watchers cracked up when they saw the fixture in the middle of the room: a fountain containing a statue of John Cameron himself, dressed in his usual suit and top hat, holding a microphone with water spurting out of it.

“Ze best part is, it is not even water, but champagne,” Leticia choked out between laughs. To everyone’s disappointment, John refused to comment on the piece, walking straight past as if he hadn’t noticed it and ignoring the interviewer’s questions.

The crew continued on their way to John’s room. They passed through the portrait gallery, which distracted the cameras for a minute as he whispered something into a device on the wall. Everyone strained to read his lips, theorizing about what he could possibly be doing, before the shot panned away from him and over the paintings on the wall.

Most of the paintings were, inexplicably though not unsurprisingly, of John himself, with a few others scattered around. Leticia pointed excitedly at the screen when they reached the one of her, for which she had posed in full military uniform, holding a large sword. The artist had added the tiger next to her, although John had offered to rent one for the occasion.

“Oh, this one?” John asked nervously, pulled away from whatever he had been doing over in the corner. The camera had focused in on a painting of a blond woman in heavy makeup and a glittery evening gown.

The circus staff looked at each other in confusion: it obviously wasn’t any of them, and it surely wasn’t an ex-girlfriend or secret wife. Only Leticia continued watching the screen, a knowing smirk on her face.

“This, well, this is my mother of course,” John answered. “It wouldn’t be a proper gallery without a portrait of my dear, mmm, late mother.”

Jacques raised his eyebrows. “Wasn’t he complaining about his ma invitin’ him to a wedding just last week? Leticia?” She gave him a thumbs up and he shook his head in confusion. “So, it ain’t his ‘dear late mother’ then. Is it another member o’ his family? She sure looks a lot like him. But why’d he hafta lie about it? Unless…”

The room fell silent as Jacques thought and John bullshitted a story about his mother’s death to an emotional interviewer.

“Holy fuck, its him.” Leticia gave another thumbs up and the room burst into conversation.

“Cameron does drag, why am I not surprised?”

“Damn, I need the name of his hairdresser.”

“If I’m being completely honest, I’d hit that.” “I think we all would.”

“If you all do not be quiet now, I swear I will tell John you said zat.” Everyone instantly shut up: if anyone could follow through on threats, it was Leticia. And John would definitely believe her.

On screen, the interviewer was giving his condolences. It was hard to tell with the lighting, but John seemed to have actual tears in his eye. A few of the staff members quietly applauded.

The few crew members in the shot stood awkwardly as the interviewer patted John on the back and slowly guided him towards the door. The camera followed them into a dark hallway which was quickly flooded with soft pink light as John flipped a switch.

“Welcome to my personal suite,” he said, wiping his eye. “On the right is my bathroom, if you would care to step inside.”

“Fuckin’ rich people,” Jacques cursed as they all gazed, spellbound, at John’s bathroom. It was the epitome of ridiculous luxury: a large, open room with multiple showerheads and small pools scattered throughout the space. In the corner was a spiral staircase, leading up to a small balcony containing the sink and toilet. The opposite wall was filled with shelf upon shelf of beauty products, most of them strange and unrecognizable.

“It’s beautiful. Could you show us around? Maybe tell our viewers what kinds of products you use?” The interviewer looked at expectantly at John, who seemed perfectly content to stand in the middle of his bathroom staring into space.

“Hmm? Oh, no thanks.”

The camera zoomed in on John’s face, still absentmindedly gazing off into the distance. Leticia cringed.

“Sir, Mr. Cameron, we’re still in the middle of the tour here. Mr. Cameron? Could we… see your bedroom, perhaps?”

“I suppose,” he said, slowly walking towards the door.

“Is he stalling for somethin’?” Jacques asked Leticia, who raised an eyebrow.

“How should I know? I have not had a personal conversation with him since it filmed last week.”

“Wait, really? Something bad musta happened, then.”

On screen, John had finally crossed the hallway and was holding the doorknob. “Well, the moment you’ve all been waiting for. My very own bedroom!” He flung the door open and the entire circus staff gasped as one as they lay eyes on the figure tangled up in the blankets. John was still facing away from them, but they saw his shoulders stiffen as he stared into the room.

The figure stirred at the sudden intrusion and sat up, rubbing at their eyes. “John? That you?”

“Holy fucking shit, is that the fucking janitor?”

“Calm down, Jacques, of course it is ze janitor. John may be an incredibly huge idiot, but he is faithful, if nothing else.”

Even the interviewer seemed speechless for a moment. “Um… you said this was your bedroom? Might I, er, ask who that is then?”

“Oh, just a guest,” John replied, turning to the woman and laughing airily, despite the vein bulging in his forehead. “This is the best bedroom in the house, of course, and of course I want the best for my guests. Give me a moment to talk to him and we can continue the tour.” He stepped quickly into the room, still smiling at the camera, and slammed the door behind him.

They heard yelling almost immediately, the crew struggling to pick up sound from inside the room. Fragments such as “called you on the intercom”, “fell back asleep”, and “you know why I was so tired, John” were picked up by the mic, amplified in post-production, and heard by millions of people across the nation and, soon enough, the world.

Everyone stared at the screen in shock.

“National… television…” Leticia whispered. “Do you think anyone understood?”

“International,” her girlfriend replied. “And yeah, Tish, I think they did.”

Moments later, John emerged, opening the door wide enough for them to see the now-empty room. The light, innocent smile was back on his face. “All right, everything’s taken care of. Come in?”

The interviewer opened her mouth and closed it again. She tried again: “Um, no offence, Mr. Cameron, but are we not going to talk about what just happened?”

He shrugged. “My apologies, I didn’t think there was anything to talk about. We- my guest forgot you were coming today and overslept a little. It’s not a big deal, really.”

“But what about the yelling?”

“Not a big deal. Really.”

“All- all right, let’s see the bedroom.”

All eyes were on the TV as John led the way inside, but Julian was nowhere to be seen. The bed had been neatly made, and the rest of the room seemed spotless.

“Where the hell did he go?” Jacques asked incredulously. Leticia waved him towards her, leaning in conspiratorially.

“Zere is a secret door in ze back wall, leading to ze outside. Do not ask me why he had it installed, I do not know.”

Jacques craned forward, but if the camera panned over the secret door, it was impossible to tell.

“Zat is why zey call it ‘secret’, Jacques,” Leticia chuckled, taking in his efforts. “You know, I am proud of John. He makes very stupid mistakes. I mean, he makes a lot of mistakes. But somehow, eh, he has fixed it as well as anyone could. I am still worried, however. I must call him, no?”

She made to stand, but her girlfriend pulled her back down.

“Let’s just finish the episode, babe. Nothing's gonna change in the next ten minutes.”

On the screen, John didn't seem particularly stressed, despite the recent developments. Leticia rolled her eyes as he dramatically flung open his closet, backing slowly inside.

A bright spotlight shown down from the ceiling, reflecting off numerous glittery and jeweled articles of clothing. He pulled out a particularly gaudy jacket, proudly displaying the embroidered Orbiting Human Circus logo on the back.

Francois’s eyes widened. “No… I saw someone wearin’ a jacket like that on the street the other day… that couldn’t ‘a been him, could it?”

Leticia sighed, dropping her face into her hands. “It is one of a kind. Custom made. Very expensive, I do not doubt.”

They all winced as he pulled on the jacket, showing no sign of removing it as they left the closet and continued the tour.

As the crew turned a corner outside John’s suite, someone screamed, startling the watchers. The camera had come face to face with a huge snake, slithering freely along the corridors.

“Shhh, you'll scare her,” John scolded as he lifted it up and around his shoulders. “This is just Edith, she's harmless.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” the interviewer sighed. “She's had her fangs removed, then?”

John furrowed his brow. “You… you can do that? She's, uh… she’s tame, though.”

Edith hissed at the interviewer, who stepped back warily. “I’ll take your word for it, Mr. Cameron. Is there, um, a story behind her?”

He shrugged. “Not particularly. She's named after my grandmother, if you were wondering.”

“I… see. Very interesting. Does she have a cage, perhaps, where you could place her while we con- finish up the tour?”

“I’ll carry her, if you don't mind.”

“Of- of course not, go right ahead.”

John whistled a little as he strolled down the hall, stroking the snake while the camera crew followed at a safe distance.

“Why the fuck would he name his snake after his grandma?” Jacques asked, stifling a laugh.

“For ze same reason he has no pictures of his family in ze portrait gallery,” Leticia replied. “True story: he only bought ze snake so he could use ze shedded skin for his accessories. Unsurprisingly, zat has not worked out, and he ended up bonding with ze poor thing. May god have mercy on any animal zat comes under ze care of John Cameron.”

Everyone nodded at that, except her girlfriend, who raised an eyebrow. To that she responded, “he has killed seven hamsters and fourteen fish since I have known him. And zose are only ze ones whose funerals he has invited me to.”

The interviewer seemed to have the same response as the circus staff, trying desperately not to laugh as John solemnly led her through a plot full of tiny, intricately carved gravestones. Leticia took a quick tally and mentally changed “fourteen” to “sixteen”.

The crew wandered over to the swimming pool, which, surrounded by sand and palm trees, looked more like a (relatively) small beach than anything. John pulled a pair of sunglasses out of his jacket pocket and nodded at the workers cleaning the pool, giving them a thumbs up.

“I haven't been using the pool recently,” he explained, leaning against a tree and accepting a margarita from someone off-camera. The interviewer looked like she wanted to make a comment about the time of day, ultimately deciding against it. “But I believe pool maintenance is essential to good yard presentation.”

“So it’s for your neighbors and guests more than yourself? That’s kind of you.”

He laughed, taking a long drink. “Sure, sure. Neighbors and guests, of course.”

The interviewer looked relieved that he hadn’t directly contradicted her statement. “Well, Mr. Cameron, it’s been a pleasure getting to see your lovely house. Do you have anything else to say to- oh, is that your guest from earlier?”

John spun around, neck flushing as he stared at a speedo-clad Julian sitting on the other side of the pool. “Ju- friend!” he shouted through gritted teeth. “I thought you had gone home already?” The janitor simply waved in response.

“Well, I have some business to attend to,” he said to the camera, smiling tightly. “But, uh, the Orbiting Human Circus wishes you a goodnight!”

The credits rolled over footage of John’s back yard, including a clip of him storming across the lawn and pushing Julian into the pool. As soon as the episode finished, Leticia rushed to the circus’s landline and dialed her friend’s number by heart.

After three tries he finally picked up, sounding out of breath. “Host John Cameron of the Orbiting Human Circus of the Air speaking, how may I help you?”

“John, it is me, are you alright? I just saw ze episode, I know how upset you must be. How could zey leave all zat in zere!? Can we sue for defamation???”

“My god, Tish, relax. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me!”

Leticia frowned, twisting the phone cord around her finger. “What… what do you mean? Everyone is going to know you are- you know. How could zat be good?”

He laughed. “I will admit, those specific parts did not do particularly well with test audiences. But the rest apparently made me seem ‘more human’, though I can’t imagine what they meant by that. Anyways, OHC listenership is estimated to rise by as much as ten percent in the next week alone!”

“So… you asked zem not to edit it?”

“Oh no, they absolutely refused. It just turned out not to be a bad thing.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Dieu merci, I am glad. But John, if you have not been hiding your face in shame for ze last week, where have you been?”

A faint voice came from his end, yelling something about coming back to bed.

“Mmm… celebrating?”

“John Cameron, I swear- “

“Sorry Tish, I have some business to attend to, thanks for checking in!” The line went dead and she hung up, rolling her eyes.

“Is he ok?” her girlfriend asked concernedly, coming up and wrapping an arm around her.

“Oui, oui, do not worry about zat ridiculous man. Mon Dieu, how he tries my patience.” Leticia took her girlfriend’s hand. “Should we go home and, hm, _celebrate_ zat I am not out of a job?”

Her girlfriend leaned up, planting a kiss on her cheek. “Pierre recorded the episode,” she whispered. “I can make more popcorn.”

“Oh, darling, you know me so well.”

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to [JustADumbWriter](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JustADumbWriter/pseuds/JustADumbWriter) for the description of Leticia's portrait, the entire concept of Edith, and probably a bunch of other stuff.
> 
> SHIT I forgot to say this but the entire concept for this fic was inspired by obviouslyinvisible.tumblr.com on tumblr.
> 
> Dieu merci- thank god  
> Mon Dieu- my god
> 
> Join me @ rotatinghumancircus.tumblr.com where I'm wholeheartedly embracing the fact that John doesn't, in fact, live in his dressing room.


End file.
